


Blue Since the Day We Parted

by Ailorian, quixoticquest



Series: A Lot Can Happen in 27 Years [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (sort of), Adulthood, Anal Fingering, Angst, Begging, High School Reunion, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sequel, Smut, To Be Continued, lovers to strangers to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailorian/pseuds/Ailorian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticquest/pseuds/quixoticquest
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak decides to go to his high school reunion in hopes of seeing the friends he hasn't spoken to in almost a decade. The last person he expects to show up is Richie Tozier, but show up he does, jonesing for love from his high school sweetheart like he never broke his heart ten years ago.





	Blue Since the Day We Parted

**Author's Note:**

> This fic technically functions as a oneshot, but it is also part of an overarching series! So if you're interested in that, please start by reading Those Were the Best Days of My Life.
> 
> For those of you who are coming from that fic, thank you for your support! This is part two of the three part series I've been talking up. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I wanted to point out real quick, in this fic I have Eddie living with Sonia, like in the miniseries. I watched a really interesting video by CineFix on youtube that compares the book to the miniseries, and mentions that having Eddie living with Sonia as opposed to married to Myra is "a very useful shorthand...instead of saying to the audience...'doesn't it seem like Eddie's choice of wife seems like he's got some Oedipus business to deal with', they were just able to say 'look at this dude still living with his mom'." I like that rationalization a lot, and I think it helps with writing Eddie as a self-actualizing gay man who's still troubled by the traumas that control his life, like the other losers. Anyway, I just wanted to mention that because it's the only miniseries detail I use.
> 
> On with the fic!

NEW YORK  
_ Hey Eds,  _

_ Still alive! I thought NH could be busy but they ain't got shit on NYC. These buildings are ginormous! I slept on a thirty-first floor of an apartment building. The ocean smells different here.  _

_ Miss you. R  _

NASHVILLE  
_ Hey Eds, _

_ I'm getting better at southern drawls. Practicing my pillow whispers. Your panties don't stand a chance, partner. I got my first job pumping gas down here. And y’all said I'd never make it. Haven't even been propositioned for prostitution yet. I must be too pretty and clean for the dust lovers down here. Doesn't look like I'll have the gas money for Christmas in time, but tell everyone I miss them. It's fucking weird how many people I've only known for a few weeks, or days.  _

_ Yours, R  _

NEW ORLEANS  
_ Hey Eds, _ _  
_ _  
_ _ You won't fucking believe how beautiful it is down here. It's like breathing soup and the sun wants to french kiss constantly. Makes me miss your ice-toes. Met a friend with natural born tits AND a dick - looks damn good in a dress. How's the college pickins? Are you getting enough vitamin D? I might have a story to trade (April Fools) (or is it). You're home over the summer right? Hopefully I'll see all you losers soon.  _

_ -R _ _  
_

ST. LOUIS  
_Hey Eds,_ _  
__  
__It should be easier to find a good postcard with the arch fuck that's the only reason I came down here. Crossed the MS RIGHT! Westward Bound. Here's hoping I don't die of dysentery before I manifest this destiny. I had a dream that you got tricked into playing the Easter bunny. If so I need pictures asap. Farthest I been from home so far and it almost doesn't feel different. Shorter than NYC though. Even when I went up in the arch. Not sure I dig heights._

_ CardsSmallLoveYouLosersYoursR _

CHICAGO  
_ Hey Eds, _

_ In case the government (or your mother) is collecting and keeping these: fuck Chicago. Fuck it straight to hell. Gun shots make for a great alarm clock though. Truck got stripped so I junked it and bought an 86 cavalier. Fucker runs like a tank. That's my whole budget for July so probably not making the parade unless I hit a jackpot. Hope someone checks on Mike at least.  _

_ XOXOXO, R _ _  
_

LAS VEGAS  
_ Hey Eds, _

_ Guess where I'm opening! Ha. Kidding (dreaming). Technically I saw France today. New job pays enough to sleep in an actual bed, in a room, with a roof! I miss the truck though, even if I'm glad for working vents crossing this damn desert. You wouldn't believe how much sand there is in the world and it’s so damn flat I swear I could see you from here if it weren't for the Appalachians. Happy Birthday. Take a shot for me. I'd send ya a buck but the lady won't let me tape quarters to this thing. I'll try to find an envelop later. Don't graduate before I get there.  _

_ Yours, RT _

LOS ANGELES  
_ Hey Eds,  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Back to a pick up truck! The cavalier gave its life rescuing chunks of building as they fell during an earthquake. She will be dearly missed. I have a PO box now if you wanna send me some new nudes. Got my first stand up gig this week. Sorry that means Christmas is off the table. The Losers are always welcome here. I'll have a couch (or a back seat) available.  _

_ Love you all. RT _ _  
_

***

People needed to stop walking by the rental car. Eddie would have been out and inside by now if he didn't keep seeing familiar faces. Jocks and cheerleaders and wiz kids who peaked in high school or just fucking got on with their lives, alone or joined by strangers. One thing was certain, that all of them had turned up their noses at Eddie at one point or another. Gave him a perfectly good reason never to come back to his hometown (among others). And yet.

It was stupid; if he didn't want to see these people, he shouldn't have come. That's what Eddie kept mumbling to himself, but when an excuse to get away from his mom for a weekend came in the form of an invitation for the  _ Derry High Class of '92 Reunion _ , he took it. Why he didn’t decide to just sit it out in a motel near his house for a couple of days, was beyond him. He hated Derry, he hated his school, and he definitely hated his graduating class. 

But he couldn't pretend that there wasn't a slight chance he might see someone he did know, that didn't make his stomach churn to look at. A chance he might see one of the six people he could actually stand from this hellhole. Maybe even more than one. The reunion was the perfect excuse to see why London, Omaha, Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta, even Derry itself was too far for a quick phone call. 

Then again, he had no leg to stand on, all the way in Long Island.   
  
Eddie sighed, tipping his head against the steering wheel, in a car he didn’t own, in a town he wished he’d never belonged to. He was dumb for thinking his friends - old friends - would be here. They hated this place as much as he did, maybe even more.   
  
Before he could reason with himself about turning the car back on to get the hell out of there, a sharp smack against the window right next to Eddie’s ear had him jumping in his seat, nearly thrown into a heart attack at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. He looked outside to see who was getting a fist in the face tonight.   
  
"...Stanley!" Eddie couldn't scramble out fast enough, forgetting he still had his seat buckled. The minute the door was closed he launched himself against Stan Uris's chest, taken aback when his haste was met with the same level of fervor.   
  
"Oh, hi," he said a moment later, more awkward than he intended, when he noticed the well-dressed lady looming too close to be a stranger passing by, witness to the entire display.

"Good to see you! Eddie, this is my wife, Patty," Stan offered when they parted, turning to wrap his arm around her waist and draw her into the conversation. "Pat, this is Eddie Kaspbrak."

Eddie did a really good job of hiding his shock, and also from setting his lips and arching his brow judgmentally at Stan. Such accusatory gestures might not have been appropriate ten seconds into the first time they had seen each other in almost a decade, especially not in front of one who was apparently the new Mrs. Stanley Uris. What was the next surprise - a Stanley Uris junior?   
  
No, not quite. The next surprise came as Eddie shook Patty's hand, when a phrase he had nearly forgotten, in the world's most obnoxious voice, resounded behind him. 

“Eddie Spaghetti!”

As if in slow motion, like the last ten years had passed too fast for this moment to last mere seconds, Eddie turned over his shoulder, skin pebbling with goosebumps before he even registered what he was seeing. 

There was Richie Tozier, all but back from the dead. A tall man (man!!), dressed right for age and event, hair combed, face utterly devoid of glasses. Standing in the fucking street like cars weren’t going by.   


"Holy shit," Eddie muttered, only to grit his teeth when he remembered Patty’s presence. He couldn’t get out an apology though, what with his throat tightening like a Chinese finger trap. In his peripherals, he saw Stan stare too. That's what you did when someone popped out of nowhere after ten years. Someone who had fucked off with no intention or promise to come back. The  _ last _ person either of them expected to see, no doubt.

Arms shooting into the air, blazer clutched in one hand, Richie split into an open-mouthed grin. Heedless of passing traffic, he strode forward until the gap closed to arms reach, and before Eddie could offer an adequate response he was trapped in a grip that hadn’t lost any of its gusto. Time resumed it’s normal pace, then, but his heartbeat was going about two times that.

"Shit kid, you look good for your age. Did you get a growth spurt? Hope it was all over." A quick bump of Richie’s hips against his made the joke extra clear before he turned to greet the others, leaving Eddie to stand uselessly.

"Hey Stan! I'm glad to see you have good taste in women. It's a pleasure to meet you, madame. I'm Richard Tozier, resident shit talker, taught Stanley here everything he knows as far as fuc-"   


"Beep beep, Richie," Stan murmured sternly. The veteran trashmouth clutched his hands over his chest, head tipped and face contorting with emotion. Suddenly, he gripped the Jew by the neck and shoulders, drawing him forward for a good and proper kiss before releasing him to shake Patty's hand properly.

Edde didn't know what to do with himself. Who had the nerve to waltz in like this, like they’d never done a single awful thing in their life? 

Richie, apparently. He had always been good at that. Just like Eddie was good at holding grudges. 

Stan, of all people, seemed perfectly happy to treat Richie with all the respect he didn’t deserve.

And even with the ticking time bomb thing his pulse was doing, Eddie couldn't quite find it in him to pick up all that accumulated hurt he had been dragging around for the last decade, either. It was so exhausting just to think about, let alone put into words. 

He decided, tonight, he just wasn't going to cause a scene. It wasn't worth it. Richie was his friend, first and foremost. Before an ungrateful asshole, and before whatever he had been to him ten years ago after graduation. And to be perfectly honest, it was just good to see he hadn’t dropped dead somewhere.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Eddie finally asked, since it was the burning question. Fuck, what were any of them doing here? "You're the furthest out of all of us, besides Bill. Hollywood not all it's cracked up to be?"   


"Well, damn, Eds, the reunion invitation was the first piece of real mail I've gotten in years!" Richie answered, stepping back just enough to cast a smug look at Stan when his wife was more amused than put off by his antics. "What was I supposed to do? I gotta see who got fat, or skinny, or  _ married! _ " Leaning back, he gestured toward their only audience with both hands. "Lucky me, Greyhound has a route this way now, you know?"

Eddie crossed his arms, tucking into himself like he needed the reassurance. Shit, maybe he did. All Richie's wild expressions were suddenly that much more intense without magnifying glasses for specs, his eyes a little too-small, even though it was a normal size for a normal face. All the times Eddie forcibly took off his glasses, and now suddenly he couldn't get over it. Must have gotten contacts.

"What about you? Long drive or - no. Don't tell me Eddie Kaspbrak got on a plane," Richie demanded, bending his knees just enough to be eye level when his hand lifted to palm Eddie’s belly, shaking both of them. "All that recycled air!"   


Eddie yelped and smacked Richie’s hand away, not quite in time to prevent his face from going red. "I took a train!" he stated, as if he needed to defend himself. "Knock it off, Rich, we're almost thirty."

“Aw Eds, you don’t look a day over nineteen.”   
  
"Look what the cat dragged in!" 

Four heads swiveled in the direction of Mike Hanlon, jogging over from the sidewalk in front of the school. A third. Already way more than Eddie expected to be here. But that didn't stop him from striding to meet him for a handshake that quickly devolved into a hug.   


Before he knew it, Richie had come up to envelope both of them. Mike’s sturdy presence was just enough to set Eddie at ease.

"Who's that?" Mike asked, his hand rising to clutch at Richie's head as the three of them shifted apart. "Who is  _ that _ , never seen your face, stranger."   
  
"I know, ain't it gorgeous? All this stud hiding for so long." Richie laughed, backing up just enough to let Mike get to the Uris clan. "I'll tell ya what, they're hard as fuck to break too," he added, winking at Eddie.   


Rolling his eyes (couldn't remember the last time he rolled his eyes, not like this), Eddie bit his tongue to keep from taking the bait he would no doubt have snatched up back when he was a teenager. This was not how he expected, or wanted, them to be reunited. If only Richie knew how many different ways he'd imagined their reunion, all ending the same way. But never like this. If Eddie had any self-respect, he would be polite, and leave the event at a reasonable hour. Alone. So long as Richie stopped staring at him like that.   
  
Eddie needed to think about something else.   
  
"Are we going in or what?" Stan demanded affectionately, once all hellos and hugs had been traded. Eddie wanted to shout  _ NO! _ and get back in his car, lock the door, and drive away never to be seen again. But he nodded instead, and they all made their way toward the school.   
  
"Hopefully we're all a little to old to get pantsed," he prefaced, adjusting his belt as he pushed the doors open into Derry High, looking like anywhere between 1988 and 1992.

"Aw, don't be nervous, Spaghetti Man, I'll protect you," Richie answered, beaming as his arm came down around Eddie’s shoulders. The gesture was friendly enough, but try telling that to Eddie, as he fixated on the weight and warmth of Richie like a beam across his back. He tried glancing at Stan, or Mike, but they seemed preoccupied, and pleased between the two of them, so he kept his furtive looks to himself.  
  
It was a quick and clearly marked walk from the entrance to the table full of name tags outside the gym. Picking out the little stickers with their names neatly printed in Sharpie took a minute or so, including the hopeful hunt for a few other names.   
  
"Guess it's just us," Mike mentioned, when the RSVP list turned up a little disappointing.   
  
"Not a bad crowd at all," Richie replied, still grinning. It was ironic, but not unbelievable, that Bill, Ben and Bev were missing, all the big Bs. Maybe they were off having a big happy threesome somewhere, Eddie thought as he smoothed his name tag down over the lapel of his suit jacket. It was pretty inconceivable, but it made him feel better to think they were together, and not alone, even if it wasn’t here.   
  
By Derry standards, the gym was crowded, even with just their graduating class present. Decked out like a spring formal, the old wood floorboards were protected by a padded dancefloor, lined along the folded bleachers with cloth-draped tables.   
  
"Who wants to spike the punch?" Richie asked, rubbing his hands together.   


"Looks like it's already been spiked," Eddie commented, pointing toward a card table stacked with wine and glasses, monitored by some staff member he had never seen before. "They cut out the middleman."   
  
"Eddie? Eddie Kaspbrak?" 

Hardly expecting that he'd get recognized by anyone else, let alone spoken to, Eddie spun around a couple times before locating the source of the call, as a bottle-blonde woman with wicked roots waved to get his attention. He didn’t return the gesture, but she scurried up to join him and his friends anyway.   
  
"Gretta Keene?" he read incredulously off her sticker, unable to keep his voice from shifting into disbelief.   
  
"How's it been!" All of a sudden there were astonishingly unfamiliar arms squeezing him, and Eddie could only stare at Richie, Mike, and the Urises in complete and utter confusion.   


"Good," was what came out of his mouth, since anything more or less, he didn’t very much care to offer. Why Gretta was being so nice to him, one could only imagine. Maybe it was a Ghost of Christmas Future situation.

Richie trounced away after the drink table, and Eddie couldn’t tell whether the absence was a pain or a relief. Given that everyone seemed perfectly fine to let him get hugged and talked at by one of his childhood abusers, it was probably the former.   
  
Gretta started on and on and on about shit Eddie couldn’t even pretend to care about, and thankfully Mike, Stan, and his wife were kind enough to stick around, and not leave him in her clutches. Richie was back eventually too, and Eddie tried not to sigh too hard as he accepted a glass to occupy his mouth, so he wouldn’t have to say anything.   
  
"So that’s what I did, for a few months. What about you? You seeing anybody?" she asked. Eddie couldn’t remember what had come before that.   
  
"Yes," Eddie said immediately, smart enough to know where this was going.   
  
"Oh."   
  
"Yeah, we live together, she cooks for me, so..." Rather than face the reality of using his mom as his escape, Eddie gulped down his wine, gaze tilted toward the high ceiling.   


"I'm still single, Miss Keene," Richie interjected, winking with a click of his tongue. "Well, divorced, but when in Vegas, right?"   


"Shut up," Eddie groaned, apprehension sneaking into his voice. This was already awful, and he wished he hadn't come - no surprise there. "'’Scuse us, Gretta, see you later." 

Somehow, he managed to gather up four people of varying heights to bustle them toward a table, and refused to look over his shoulder. Just hoped Greta knew to stay put. It was a terrible beginning to, what Eddie expected to be, a terrible night.

***

Eddie sank into a folding chair, butt pushed out just long enough for Richie to see that it was still pert as ever, unchanged, immortal. "I hate this," Eddie said, head between his hands.

"Didn’t know you were such a flirt, Kasprak. Don't tell me you swing the other way now," Mike said, teasing, by the tone of his voice.    
  
"Gee Mike, why don't you shout it from the rooftops." Eddie tossed his hands in the air.    
  
"As if no one knows already," Stan murmured, sidling his chair closer to Patty. Richie settled into the seat at Eddie’s left as they claimed an entire table set for eight. It was almost appropriate in itself, and tempted him to get drinks for the other three place settings - half "here in spirit" and half to keep other stragglers from bothering them.

Eddie’s grown-up face twisted up. “Even her?” He pointed at Patty.

“Yeah. We’re all friends here. Marriage is a union and all that.”   
  
"You dick. That's like, rule number one of being an ally. You already failed." Eddie huffed, hair billowing on his forehead (cute). Without warning, his eyes flicked in Richie’s direction, catching the poor trashmouth in a rare moment of silence. Who could blame him, if he’d stopped talking so he could listen to the sound of his friends’ voices? 

"...You really divorced, Rich?"

"Annulled, if you wanna get technical," Richie drawled out, tickled by the interest.   
  
"So, there was a marriage," Stan put in, a tad incredulous. "A wedding."   
  
"Yep, cute little ceremony. Elvis came. Sorry you guys couldn't make it. We kinda threw it together after, oh, eleven martinis? Can't say I remember the details." Pausing, Richie took a moment to bask in the tiny crowd of shocked expressions.   
  
"I was a stepdad for nine whole days!" he added excitedly, downing half his wine glass in some mockery of a toast. "Cute kid too, but Crystal was a notary so the paperwork went through pretty quick."   
  
"Lucky for the kid," Mike chirped, folding his elbows onto the table.

"Enough about botched marriages," Eddie said all of a sudden. "What the hell has been going on for the last ten years?" 

Fuck, Richie never thought he’d ask.   
  
If they were supposed to be buddying up to the rest of their classmates, they were doing a shitty job of it, hunkered around the table, catching up as much as they were trying to get Patty up to speed on all the dumb stuff they used to do. Self-designated drink-fetcher Richie had cause to wonder if he was the only one actively interested in getting somewhere between tipsy and hammered that night, or simply a convenient imposition upon his friends. It was enough to get his legs moving a few times, at least, and he hardly missed anything, though every sip had his lips itching for other vices. They might have had wine in a high school gymnasium, but he couldn’t imagine smoking would be very much appreciated.   
  
"Oh nothing much.” Eddie was answering a question when Richie came back, elbows on the table with one hand hooked around the back of his neck. Richie placed a full glass in front of him, gentlemanly as ever. "Living in Long Island, nice house. Buddy of mine is trying to convince me to get into the limo business. Last thing I'd ever fucking think of."   
  
"Really?" Richie asked, catching on as he sat back down. He had abandoned his own wine in favor of the mixers at the far end, leaving him with a straw that wouldn't stay in the ice and bubbles. "You thought of cattle rancher and astronaut before the limo scene? Didn't know you had it in ya, Eds."   
  
"Is that what  _ you're _ doing?" Stan asked, smirk wry and cheeks just pink enough to indicate that the yellow stuff was getting to him. "Cattle ranching in space?"   
  
"Nah, stand-up," Richie answered brightly. "Got a sweet little gig in the middle of LA. They let me have the mic between bathroom clean up and dishes."   
  
"Living the dream," Stan quipped dryly.   


"Gotta use the little boys' room," Mike said a second later, scooting his seat back.   
  
" _ Teenage _ boys' room," Eddie chimed in, smiling radiantly as Mike knocked him on the shoulder on his way past.    
  
Moments later, Stan spotted a kid ( _ adult _ , Richie had to keep reminding himself), from his old Boy Scout troop across at the drink table, and dragged his wife out of her seat to meet them. Though Richie couldn't really call it dragging, she seemed perfectly pleased to go. He watched after them, and as picture perfect as they appeared to be, he couldn't wrap his head around a Mrs. Stanley Uris. It just didn’t seem...right.   
  
"They look happy," Eddie said as if they were on the same wavelength, setting his chin on his hand, arm propped on his leg. "Wonder if he told her he blew me in the auditorium."   


Richie had a mouthful of off-brand cola and rum when Eddie's declaration made his lungs simultaneously expand and contract, immediately sending carbonated sugar water and white liquor right through his nose.

"Here?" Richie choked out, astonished, scrambling for a napkin as he tried to turn the sound into a muffled laugh. The spark of heat in his stomach could only be jealousy in that moment, and the trashmouth wasn't humble enough to acknowledge  _ and _ ignore it.

"Was that before, or after you creamed yourself during  _ A League of Their Own _ ?" he asked, just softly enough to let his voice fade into the din before it escaped the little bubble around them without being suspiciously quieter.

For a while, Eddie was quiet. Whether because Richie had hit a sour note or for some other reason, he couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t like the way his stomach sank into the floor when Eddie looked away from him.

"It was junior year," he said finally, eyes flicking to the floor between his shoes, taking a sip to wet his lips. "After I came out, Stan wanted to experiment with me, to figure out if he was into dick or not. I was happy to help. He is, by the way. Was, I guess. Maybe both. Not that it matters." 

A cough cleared Richie’s throat properly, and protected against any follow up gasps, scoffs, or otherwise interruptive sufferings, solely because he did not want to react wrong to  _ this _ .  _ Junior year  _ was enough to have his lips pressed in a tight line, lacking anything resembling entitlement to the churning in his gut. He couldn’t help recalling how often he was thinking about Eddie's dick, while Stan's mouth was apparently  _ on _ it. A full year, maybe even a few months more, before he even had the balls to kiss Eddie. Maybe he should have been asking  _ Stanley _ for sex advice all along.

At least Richie had time to feel guilty for the carefully concealed expression on Eddie's face between feeling sorry for himself and irrationally annoyed with his oldest friend. It probably should have been more surprising that Stan swung that way at all (oops, it wasn’t), but there was no denying his distracted fixation.   


Suddenly, Eddie sat up, and cast a glare in Richie's direction, poking his pointer finger at him. "If you tell him, or anyone else I told you, I will kill you. I will drive out to LA and personally kill you."   


Richie lifted his hands in surrender, fingers carefully splayed around the grip on his glass. It was impossible not to smile, though, trapped for a moment in honey brown eyes that were perfectly unchanged beneath the bow of a threatening brow.   
  
"Shit, Eds, if that's all it takes to get you to visit... " Richie mused quietly, relaxing back down with elbows splayed from the back of his chair to the table. Eddie’s cheek twitched, and he had it in him to call it a win. So maybe he wasn’t  _ that  _ guilty.

"Back!" Mike came striding across the gymnasium floor, confident like he had accomplished a lot more than a quick piss. "What'd I miss?"   
  
"Just small talk," Eddie replied. On Mike's way down, he clapped him on the shoulder, and rose himself. "I'm tapping in. Which ones are open?"   
  
"By the science wing. Wait ‘til you see, they haven't even scrubbed off the graffiti from ten years ago."   
  
"Really? N-word and everything?"   
  
"F-word too."   
  
"They're spoiling me here." Eddie performed a perfunctory eye roll and walked off with little more than that, taking all his pouty enigmatic expressions with him.

"Does anything feel different?" Mike asked, as Eddie made it through the doors and Richie's eyes had no choice but to stop following him. The grown adult trashmouth had the gall to hope he wasn't being too unintentionally obvious. 

If his friend's expression was anything to go by, the answer was no.   
  
"Well it sure don't feel like California," Richie answered "But I was almost expecting snow, so that's not saying much." Glancing pointedly around the gym, he found himself looking for something specific, like they were playing I Spy. "You'd know better than me, though, huh?"    
  
"Yeah," Mike murmured, chuckling. "You'd think it would be easy to notice changes when you're always looking at something."   
  
"Well, since we're all breaking the seal," Richie started, draining the rest of his drink. "Might as well get this show on the road. Don't mean to leave you lonesome, Mike."   
  
"I'll be fine," his old friend laughed, waving him off as the tall brunet stood. Didn’t quite stop the guilt though, but that had been there since he abandoned Mike in the first place. And the rest of them but who was counting?

The hallway outside the gym was a little crowded until Richie turned at the stairs, following an eerily familiar route toward the little blue man symbol on the wall. A few quick (but relatively thorough) glances around made him fairly confident of something resembling privacy, and the tall safety stalls almost eliminated the need to bend down and check as soon as he made in through the door.   
  
Eddie stood at the sink already, bowed forward so the look of concentration on his face was hidden by his shoulders. Making sure he scrubbed good and hard under the faucet for all twenty of those recommended seconds. Until

Without warning, or preparation, Richie came close enough to press them together, chest to back. His arms rose to slide beneath the open lapels of a soft blazer, an indulgent measure that probably wasn’t all that warranted. But when was anything he did ever warranted?   
  
"You just left Mike and Stan alone down there?" Eddie asked quietly. He knew well enough who was holding him. Maybe he had been begging serendipity or whatever was in charge of this shit for a moment alone, just like Richie had.

"They're big boys," Richie answered softly, his head dropping down before he could think about it, to rest the curve of his lips and nose against the layers of Eddie's collar. Soft hair brushed his cheek, just a little longer in the back than he remembered. The fabric there was as warm as it was under his hands, seeping slowly through the front of his own shirt. Eyes closed for a moment, there was only them, Eddie and Richie, suspended in time and space. Ageless, infinite, untouchable.   
  
When his eyes opened again, Eddie was watching him in the mirror, and Richie almost wondered if the guy had taken up poker, for all his expression offered. He could remember, not entirely well but still remembered, the last time he held Eddie in front of a restroom sink. Was it at an arcade or a bowling alley? Maybe it was the pizzeria with the arcade cabinets in the back. It didn’t really matter. The important part was Eddie’s eyes in the mirror back then, bright and crisp while he cycled through the course of action that would eventually have them making out in a bathroom stall without a care in the world.

Richie could only hope for a similar outcome, but this deadpan wasn’t giving him much to work with.   
  
"Besides," he continued, straightening for the sole purpose of turning Eddie in place - hands carefully placed on hips and arms - only to press him back against the counter with a shifting of his weight, head tipped back. "Patty is with them, I'm sure they won't get too rowdy."   


But before he could even think about looming closer, Eddie shook his head heavily. Two hands against his chest separated them like a highway barrier, and Richie couldn't do much more than let his arms drop to his sides, splayed a bit for balance as he stepped back. There was nowhere for his forward momentum to go but into his pulse.

"Not now, Richie," Eddie muttered, as if he needed to vocalize his extremely telling body language. It felt like a cold stone was sinking from Richie’s throat to his gut, scraping the sides along the way. But it probably hurt less than the tightness in Eddie's voice.   


"Oh, should I call for an appointment?" Richie asked, trying to lighten the mood a little, though there was no helping the dry self-pity in his voice. "You have like, an itinerary I can glance at?"   


"How about you check back with me in another ten years?" Edde asked, his tone more confident, as if it were an actual time slot worth scheduling. "Or why not make it twelve? Lord knows you wouldn’t come back here for anything short of the apocalypse. Don’t know why the fuck you came back now." He turned away, ripping paper towels out of the dispenser in the wall with alacrity.   


"Ten years?" Richie echoed (almost actively avoiding any recollection of why he might have to come back in twelve years), toneless now that Eddie's facade had fallen like broken dam. "I just got done waiting ten years to hear from you again! Your voice has changed, your face is different. You were hiding cheekbones under that baby face. You think I'm gonna make it another decade? Eds. C’mon." 

Dammit. Hands rising to his hips, Richie looked away, chin tipping against his chest while he tried to swallow. The crumple of paper towels was the only noise for a moment, aside from their breathing. Maybe this was his sign to quit before he made an ass of himself. Not that signs or warnings or anything had ever stopped him before.   
  
"I had to get on a bus. Two buses, actually. And a taxi ride. Just to  _ maybe  _ see you. Fuck if I knew where you and this in-home chef of yours were off to ‘cause the returned mail certainly didn't offer a forwarding address. What else is here, Eddie? My parents don't even live here anymore and Mike's a wonderful guy but he ain't got time to keep an eye on an old jackass like me." 

Richie could hear himself getting louder, the words coming faster, in the echo and in the silence that followed as his whole body sagged with a defeated sigh. God but it was like being a fish on the wrong end of a fillet knife, raw and splayed for an audience that didn't even want to look at him.   


"See that all makes sense." Eddie lifted his head, shoulders rising in a deep breath before finally offering Richie the benefit of eye contact as he turned on his heel. "It covers, oh, the last five years? So what about the first five?" He lifted his hand, a pantomimed pen in his grip. "'Dear Eds, sorry, not coming for Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or your birthday, or the summer even though it’s four months long’, again and again and again and again-!'" 

Scowling now, Eddie dropped his arms, flinging the pen with it. Weight shifting to one hip as the performance finished, Richie’s couldn't help the absolutely incredulous grin that stretched almost sardonically across his mouth, equal parts flattery and offense taking shape the only way they knew how.   
  
"So you got those, didja?" he murmured when it was clearly his turn again. Feeling guilty for long enough made it easy to pinpoint the parts that weren't actually his fault, plucking apart circumstances looking for proof that there was no better way. 

There was a big part of him, though, that wanted to skip ahead to the part where they kissed and made up, and then made up for lost time. Maybe that was what softened his tone, stealing the puff and heat right out of his chest.   
  
"The first time? I was sleeping in my truck, eating McDonald's for every meal, trying to convince people to pay me for yard chores," he answered simply, arms a deadweight at his sides. "I had fifty dollars to my name at any given moment and all I knew was going back meant getting stuck. Everyone was vanishing to the four winds and all I could hear was my mother babbling about getting my Associates at Derry Community and the nice girls at church. What did you expect, Eddie? Was I supposed to sit at home with a thumb up my ass waiting for the nine weeks per year that you spared for this shit hole?"   


"I don't care what you were doing!" Eddie shot back frantically, as soon as there was an opening. "Rather than tell you literally all the alternatives to what you consider 'stuck', I'll just skip to the part where you were perfectly okay - maybe not happy with but still okay! - with making me wait for you. Making all of us wait for you! Stan, Mike, Bill, Ben, Beverly." He counted them off on his fingers. "Not just me, and your a fucking asshole if you think it’s just me! I’m the one who had to tell them  _ every time _ that you weren’t coming, before they started fucking off for good too. First Bev, then Stan, then Ben. Then me." 

Fuck, but in that split second, Richie saw the pain of each departure in Eddie’s eyes. The exact thing he had been trying to avoid for himself when he left too soon.   
  
"Maybe you couldn't control where  _ I _ went or how long I was away but you certainly tried to keep your foot in the door didn't you? All that don't break up with me and remember this face shit like it was gonna be ten months instead of ten years? Newsflash, Richie!" As if he had energy to expel, Eddie balled his hands into fists and hit Richie square in the chest. "It’s not a relationship if you don’t see each other in a decade!”

"I told you, there was nothing to come home to!" Richie declared in response, resolute and cold despite the heat creeping up his throat - more misplaced anger than embarrassment. A hand lifted to brush his fingers over the point of impact where Eddie punched him, barely enough to tip his balance but enough to hurt. It ached before Eddie even touched him and Richie wished he would do it again, just to have a tangible cause for the pain.    
  
"You were all leaving long before I did," he continued, sounding more accusatory than intended but there was no stopping it then. "Bags packed and departures scheduled. You didn't even believe I would go. And I had to, Eddie. I had to get the fuck away from this place. Don't pretend anyone would have come back for me. You didn't even want to take me with you and I sure as shit wasn't going to be the last one of us hugging Mike on my way out the door." Because he couldn't handle letting them go one by one. At least leaving early had left him the illusion of them remaining together, waiting for him to come back. 

Just like Eddie said.   


"I couldn't take you with me, you fucking dipshit, I was going to college!' Eddie snapped, fingers curled and pointed as he shuddered with all the anger (and hurt) that managed to fit in that compact body. "I can't just stow you away under the bed to do laundry while I'm in class! Was, in class. I mean.” He shook his head. “Besides, you were going off to fulfill your big stand-up dreams, even if it took you years to get there. You couldn't have that with me, and you wouldn't want what I had anyway, I mean I’m still-"  
  
Eddie cut himself off. Whatever he meant to say stuck in his throat, and wouldn’t come out. Richie knew the feeling. He almost had the gall to lunge forward then, like a fencer taking advantage of an opening in the defense. 

Instead, he limited himself to the two steps it took to put Eddie within reach again. Richie’s face was hot, flushed and threatening to seal up his throat and open the flood waters in his eyes while he stared down at soft chestnut hair.   
  
"You wouldn't want what I had either," Richie murmured, a self-deprecating chuckle ghosting out of him as he imagined (well,  _ remembered  _ imagining) Eddie sleeping in the truck bed beside him, bags of fast food on the dashboard. Months of his life spent wondering what the closest thing he ever had to a high school sweetheart would have done differently, demanded of him on the road together. Wash your hands, throw that away, leave the cat alone.   
  
"But I'll always want you, Eds," Richie whispered, his throat finally closing enough to make his chest panic about being able to inhale. His hands lifted to clutch the curve of a sharpened jawline, thumbs brushing over soft cheeks.  
  
Clutched between Richie’s hands, Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, head shaking minutely. "Fuck you, Richie, fuck you, fuck you." 

Nodding minutely, almost wryly in agreement, Richie nearly cinched his eyes shut, lashes a dark and narrow frame as he fought to keep hot tears at bay and Eddie in sight for as long as he could. 

Then, Eddie launched himself, fists uncurling just enough to grab Richie by the lapels and drag him forward, crushing their lips together for the first time in hundreds of thousands of years. It was enough to have Richie surrender finally, sinking into the ungentle stamp of Eddie's mouth with a relieved sigh. Angry, wet, violent, soft - hell, he'd take it however it came.    
  
His teeth parted - a dare and yield - as his hands shifted back, sliding through soft, carefully styled hair and down over tense shoulders until he could gather Eddie against him in his entirety. Richie wasn't sure he could breathe, wasn't sure he needed to, licking into the somehow dangerous (how much was he gonna get away with this time?) cave of a hot mouth with abandon, like a marooned pirate finding a cool spring. He had just crossed a desert after all, if you counted Nevada and Arizona, and that didn't even take into consideration the ten years of drought.    
  
They bumped to a stop as Eddie's ass hit the low sink counter and Richie gasped, failing to realize he had even pressed forward. Lifting his head enough to sip at cold air like a drowning buoy, the tall brunet lifted his hand to Eddie's face again, thumbing his cheeks this way and that, unable for a moment to believe it was here. 

They were both here. So different and yet completely unchanged. 

Eddie ducked down, pressing his face against Richie's chest as his arms wound around his back, fingers clutching at the curve of his shoulders. Richie’s hands folded easily around the back of Eddie’s head, clutching the shorter brunet against him as his head tipped to rest his cheek there too. It was easy to slide his own arm around a still narrow waist, his nose tipping into still soft hair.

It was all his imagination, but Richie couldn't resist the relief of the years melting away until he was nothing but a recent graduate, high on life and bonfire smoke with Eddie Kaspbrak's face clutched in his hands, just outside Mrs. K's car and the Denbrough house.    
  
"I missed you, so much," Richie whispered, when his racing mind refused to provide the quip that would have Eddie laughing and smacking him again, take them back to when it was easier to forgive and move on, because their friends were waiting and it didn't hurt that much anyway. 

It took a little trial and error to get a grip on Eddie's head that didn't involve tugging his hair or hooking him like a sea bass. The lines in his face had sharpened but those honey brown eyes were the same ones that still stared up at him from the clutch of cherished Polaroids in his wallet - the only safe place left in his whole world.    
  
"Come on, Eds. Let's get outta here," Richie said, almost begging if he was being honest with himself. Seeing Stan and Mike was great, but the price of performing socially in front of their whole graduating class was a bit too high and Richie wasn't willing to spend more than the time it took to reach a vehicle not touching Eddie again.    


"Okay," Eddie agreed, nodding vigorously in the cradle of Richie's hands. "I have a rental. Let's go."

"Thank God," Richie murmured, meaning it more than he expected, and unable to make himself step away until Eddie moved around him instead, and the draw of a hand gripping his turned him in place. 

Trailing down the corridor that way was oddly amusing, and put a warmth in his chest that Richie couldn't remember feeling in a long time. But as they reached the stairs and other voices could be heard, he couldn't stop himself from letting their fingers slip apart. Maybe he was a coward, but mostly he didn't want to give anyone a reason to get in their way.    
  
That wasn't going to stop Stan, though, who had apparently escaped the missus just long enough to get caught up in a dreary conversation with some brunette behind the name-tag table that Richie couldn't quite place. She almost looked too old to even be in their class.

As birdboy's gaze tipped toward them, his brows rose, and that ever-knowing expression suddenly knew too much. Richie didn't want to give them away, but he sorta hoped that he looked the right kind of roughed up, and maybe got a smidgen of satisfaction of knowing that Stan noticed - not that he cared.    
  
"Taking off?" Stan asked, a wry tilt to his calm demeanor as he turned to face them, all but dismissed from the brunette's attentions. Apparently he had been complaining about something, much to her vexation.    
  
"Yeah, this party's a wash," Richie answered, eyes rolling with the lift of his shoulders as his hands slid into his pockets. "Hate to you leave you lonesome."    
  
"I'm sure you do," Stan retorted, one brow still high over heavy eyes.    
  
"But hey, you can't be takin' off at dawn, right? Let's do lunch. I’d like to get to know that wife of yours a little more," Richie teased, clapping his own friend on the shoulder as he reached for his wallet, plucking out a couple of his fresh new business cards. With a P.O. Box and a cellular number now, it only seemed appropriate, and he hadn't been able to resist the  _ For all your entertainment needs  _ scrawled under his name.    
  
"Bring Mike, huh? It'll be fun."    
  
"You bet," Stan answered, finally smiling as he glanced down at the embossed rectangle. "Stay safe."    


“You too, Stanthony. See you soon.”

***

While Richie settled things with Stan, Eddie peered into the gymnasium, craning his neck to find Mike. He saw him being led to the dancefloor by a former classmate who may or may not have been a cheerleader back in the day. Eddie couldn't tell, but judging from the look on Mike’s face, he was probably fine, and wouldn’t miss them for as long as it took to dance to a good song or two.   
  
After they had finished up, carefully avoiding their goodbyes, Eddie set out with Richie, past the smattering of old classmates chatting it up in the lobby. Eddie ripped the sticker off his blazer and flicked it in the trash on their way out the door. Patting himself for the keys, different from his own to the sedan that was still parked at the train station in Long Island, he found them in the pocket of his slacks on their way to his rental. Clicking the button made the still unfamiliar vehicle easier to identify, when the lights came on like a beacon in the dark. A lot of people (for their tiny graduating class, anyway) were still going in, but it seemed he and Richie were the only ones crazy enough (sane enough) to be leaving already.

Richie retrieved a half-crushed carton of cigarettes from his pocket, and lit one on their way through the meager parking lot, filled with potholes older than their graduation. Eddie couldn’t say he was really surprised by the vice, given that the only difference between present Richie and past Richie was that he didn’t have to hide out to indulge the filthy habit anymore. Eddie was willing to save the tar lung photos for later, since he had other plans on his mind. As long as Richie didn’t get in the car with that thing, it was fine, in its own disgusting way.   
  
Richie's arm caught him around the waist before he could get to the car door, not quite forcing him to look up, though Eddie did it anyway. Seeing Richie, glasses-less, hair shorter and tidier than it had ever been, with a cigarette in his mouth - let's not forget  _ older  _ \- was like looking at a completely different person. Even though it put the same heady thrill through the pit of Eddie's stomach. 

"Your hotel or mine?" Richie asked then, quietly as he smirked, the cherry of his cigarette ashing off in hot chunks.  
  
"Yours," Eddie answered, wondering about how tobacco smoke tasted secondhand. "Mine’s more like a motel, really. Yours can't possibly be worse." After Amtrak expenses, for a guy financially responsible for himself and his mother who had a pharmacy bill a mile long, he could only put out so much for a weekend stay. The motels toward Bangor were loads cheaper than the Derry Town House.

Before they could cause a scene, Eddie sidestepped, trailing his hands along Richie's arm before surrendering them to the door handle to let himself in. After a few seconds, Richie smashed the remnants of his cigarette into the ground and followed after.

It wasn't that it felt wrong, it just felt weird. Eddie had to be dumb as bricks not to know they were going to a hotel for a very particular purpose beyond catching up with each other, but he couldn't shake the sensation of how different it felt to drive Richie out onto the highway for this. Not his bedroom, not the pickup truck, or any other space they deemed safe enough. It was all so adult. As if they'd have their pants back on within the hour. 

But if Eddie kept thinking about things like that, he was going to miss Richie's directions.   


"I'm right on the end," Richie mentioned, pointing toward the far side of several identical doors, furthest from the check in office and from the spotlights that lit most of the parking lot at the motel. It was about the same grade as Eddie’s, from the looks of it, but at that moment, he didn’t really mind where they ended up. The only reason the bathroom stall was out of the question this time was because so many people had been around.

Eddie pulled in as close as he could, trying not to grimace like he had when he pulled into his own place. He made sure to lock the doors - not that Derry was a criminal hotspot as far as robbery went. But rental fees were hell. Once out, he followed Richie adamantly, but furtively, as if they were up to no good (they probably were, depending on your opinion), through the farthest door, past where prying eyes could see. 

When the lights came on, he couldn't call himself impressed, but that had been his reaction to his own weekend digs a couple hours ago too. At least here, Eddie had the freedom to leave, if he needed to. Whether he  _ wanted  _ to, was yet to be seen.   
  
"Least you don't have cigarette burns in the comforter," he mentioned, trying not to let his scrutiny extend too far.   


"Yeah, ritzy place," Richie agreed, thumbing open the top two buttons of his shirt as he discarded wallet, keys, and mobile phone on the rickety table by the old TV. "Toilet even has a seat."

Before they could devolve into awkward small talk, Eddie decided to occupy himself shrugging out of his blazer, laying it across a chair where it wouldn’t wrinkle. Before he could make inventory of his own belongings, Richie loomed closer, demanding Eddie’s attention with a single step. He got a hand around the back of Eddie's neck, drawing him forward to slot their lips together.

Eddie was right. He tasted like cigarette smoke. Gripping him by one hip, Richie pressed them together, chest to knees as his head tipped, nipping Eddie’s mouth open to slide between his lips. Eddie met him eagerly, making up for lost time, while shame had no hold on him.  
  
There was so much of Richie that Eddie had to take a step back, even while his face advanced, a weird stop and go that he clung to by the fabric of an unironed button down across broad shoulders. He hadn't kissed anyone in years, and couldn't help but feel like he wasn't doing it right. It was stupid, that he felt so old and useless. He was still so young. Living his best life. Should have been, anyway.   
  
Eddie’s knees hit the mattress, and he threw one arm behind him to stop his fall. His mouth ghosted away from Richie's at the impact, and while he got in as much air as he could before the inevitable dive back in, he found his eyes trailing down and away from pink parted lips. He didn't ask if Richie had showered today, he didn't care, it didn't matter. He just pulled the folded collar of his shirt apart to get his lips on Richie’s skin, sliding the O of his mouth across the pronounced Adam’s apple like he could kiss his voice right out of him.   


It was impossible not to recall the first time, in the pickup truck. When Eddie had to be bargained with to mark Richie with his lips,, and even then he couldn't even make himself do it anywhere where it mattered. Eddie would redo it all over again, just to know he could claim Richie with purple bruises and red indents. They wouldn't have lasted long enough to ward off  _ ex-wives  _ named  _ Crystal _ , though. As if to make up for what he'd already taken for granted, Eddie nipped even deeper at the skin on Richie's neck, ridged from a morning shave. He didn't care who would see when the sun came up.

"You and your damn  _ belts _ ," Richie accused, as he attempted to slide, lift, and pull the tails of Eddie's shirt free from his trousers, an utterly useless effort against the tight band of leather. Apparently Riche still hadn't grown up enough to put on a  _ damn belt _ of his own, even though his skinny hips needed it more than Eddie's ever did. Not so skinny anymore, though, so maybe he was faring okay.   
  
Richie shifted back, separating them enough to get his hand between them and wasted no time at all getting Eddie unbuckled, the shorter brunet tilting his hips back to assist. The whole belt slid free with the first draw - fast enough that it almost snapped like a whip as Richie's arm flung out to the side, only to let it fall, forgotten.When Richie's hand came back, cold against Eddie’s warm pelvis, he pressed them together again, clinging to him like some kind of monkey just so he could get his lips under his jaw before they were pulled apart again.

Eddie could have stood there worshipping Richie's skin until sunrise, but his efforts stilled with the steady guide of hands on his head until his mouth was under Richie's again, and he couldn't say he minded the change. Cold fingers against his stomach had him gasping around a persistent tongue, and Eddie couldn't help but wonder if all those cigarettes contributed to poor circulation.   
  
His mouth fell open around dry air once again, as Richie's head ducked under his chin, drawing back to frantic nights, when all he needed to get off was some kisses and a little bit of friction. 

Suddenly Eddie was staring at the ceiling of Richie's truck again, or his own bedroom, just for a split second. But it was jarring enough that his balance faltered, and he fell against the thin blanket with Richie toppled over him.   
  
That didn't stop Eddie from arching back against that mouth, legs tangled, burrowing his fingers between them to pluck open the rest of the buttons on Richie's shirt. If he was lucky enough, the tiny discs fell open with little more than a wriggle of his forefinger.   
  
"Weak knees?" Richie asked against Eddie’s throat. It wasn't like he could respond, even if he tried. It was almost a shame, because talking back meant Richie would answer, something snappy or long-winded, and Eddie couldn’t decide whether he wanted quips or kisses more. 

Not that he expected Richie to be quiet. That was like expecting a bear not to shit in the woods.

Richie found room to delve his fingers into the open vee of Eddie’s steam-pressed trousers, wriggling between fabric and flesh to expose more stomach. Thank God his hand got warmer the more he touched. 

He moved out of Eddie’s grip, sliding to the floor, nipping at the sparse trail of almost blond hair half-hidden by the elastic waistband of his underwear. Eddie moved up on his elbows, prying his shoes off with the end of the bed so he wouldn’t have to worry about them later. Seeing Richie bent against his stomach was jarring, in the best way, but Eddie couldn't help but long for the skinny, teenage version of himself. He couldn’t imagine that what Richie was presented with now was anything close to how it had been ten years ago. Pretty boys didn’t age well.

But not even that thought could stop Eddie’s hands from moving to Richie's dark hair, like he had to figure out what it felt like all over again. That drew dark eyes up, clear and bright as ever, even when the rest of Richie hadn’t always been much to look at. A smirk curled his lips away from Eddie’s skin, and suddenly Richie lifted out of the way, yanking snug trousers (and the underwear beneath) out from under Eddie’s ass and sliding them down until he could use his knee to relegate them to the floor.   
  
"Fuck, Eds," Richie breathed, grinning, and it was just enough for Eddie to wonder if maybe he was a tiny bit closer to the better version of himself than he thought.

Richie's smile had always either been contagious or repulsive with no in between, and now Eddie felt his mouth ache all the way in his cheeks, while his chest swelled and tightened like it needed to hold on to air for good luck.   
  
"You're too kind," he said quietly, instead of a thousand other things he could say. Eddie sat up, acutely aware that he was already past half-hard at this point, as his cock shifted in his naked lap. Bent against the bed, there was no way to gauge Richie’s progress, but he had to be in the same boat if he was going to go around cursing Eddie's name like that.   
  
"I feel like this is the part where I'm supposed to take your glasses off and wear them myself," Eddie mentioned on the breath that finally tumbled out of his lips, quickly unfastening the last two buttons holding Richie's shirt together, and pushing it off his arms - opposite his own state of undress beyond the wrinkled tails of his shirt.   


"They're in my bag right now," Richie offered quietly, taking over Eddie’s efforts when he couldn't quite push past his elbows. That garment joined the pants on the floor as he reached to pluck open the rest of Eddie's buttons too. "It's a sin to cover a face this pretty for anything less than bedtime reading.”

"You can read?" Eddie almost shocked  _ himself _ with his retort, not like anything he'd said out loud in a long time. In front of who? His mom? She would miraculously overcome arthritis just to cuff him on the ear. 

It wasn't something he allowed himself to dwell on, though, not when he could devote himself to the sight of Richie with his shirt gone, pushing Eddie's off with no little effort before dipping into his lap.

Richie bowed low enough to slide his tongue up the side of Eddie's hardening shaft, only to close his lips around the bulbed head without warning. That first stripe of warm wet almost got Eddie full mast on the first try, and it didn't take very much to get him all the way there after that. His very breath sounded disbelieving in his own ears, shuddering out as his dick twitched in Richie's mouth, just out of sight by the curve of his hair. Eddie got a proper glimpse when his hands found their way into those curls again, brushing Richie's hair over the plane of his forehead just to see his face from that angle. It almost matched the memory.   
  
"Fuck, Rich." It was his turn to go cursing names, apparently.   


Richie’s eyes found him again, and he winked unabashedly. The worst part was, it worked on Eddie, for maybe the first time ever.

Swallowing around the swollen head, Richie sank lower, slurping when he inhaled on the way up. His hands laid flat against Eddie’s thighs, only to shift forward, thumbing under the weight of tight testicles just as his chin bumped against them. Eddie was beside himself with no way to reciprocate beyond the trembling stroke of his hands through Richie's dark hair - though somehow, he felt like that was more for himself. Richie, only a memory for so long, was suddenly so tangible right now. How could he not touch?   
  
Orgasming too fast was barely passable at eighteen, and would have been nothing but worse now, but that's what Eddie could feel his rusty pipes climbing toward, especially with Richie working his fingers into a sensitive cluster of nerves that almost had him jumping off the bed. No, no, he wasn't going to let this end after five fucking minutes. He couldn't.   
  
"Please, don't let me come like this," Eddie gasped, when a simple "stop" just wasn't going to happen. "Gotta make you feel good too."

Mercifully Richie paused, lifting off the purpling cock. But there was a peculiar twinkle in his eye, and Eddie knew he should have said  _ anything _ else. 

"Don't  _ let _ you?" Richie asked. Of all the times to feel dumb about word choice, this was not high on the list of Eddie’s favorites. Frankly, he didn't want to feel dumb at all. But here he was, glancing at the ceiling, mouth trying to open around some sort of qualifier that would get him out of the woods. To think he had resorted to  _ begging _ .

Shifting his hand a little higher, Richie cinched the circle of his thumb and fingers around the base of Eddie's dick. His open mouth dropped around another fucking gasp, as tight pressure gripped him by the balls - literally - all thanks to the clutch of Richie's hand.   
  
"I'll give it a try," Richie murmured, feigning naivete like a fucking champ. Eddie could only stare until that red mouth hollowed over his cock again, almost enough to make his eyes cross.

"You fucking asshole," he choked out, his arms finally falling out from under him to let his body bounce against the bed.   
  
“Aren’t we demanding tonight.” Hand shifting forward, Richie popped off to dive lower, nipping at Eddie’s thigh, and then easing toward ass cheeks. The mercy was a weird sort of relief and agony, in the seconds between his aching dick pulling itself together and the twitch of his hypersensitive skin whenever fingertips brushed against it. 

But soon it wasn't a brush, it was an invasive prod, into territory Richie had never quite finished exploring back in the day. Eddie remembered like a brand, especially in the heat of Richie's tongue. Fuck, but he was done for.

A prodding breach had Eddie's body edging to close his legs, as if he couldn't convince his mind-over-matter function that the exploration was exactly what he wanted. Wasn't like it mattered, though, since he couldn't squeeze his knees together around the length of Richie's body anyway.   
  
Suddenly, Richie pulled away, without warning. For all the excitement he was causing between Eddie’s legs, a warning would have been appreciated.

"Sit tight for a sec," he instructed, standing. Eddie lie there dazed, for a good while as Richie moved around the bed, until he could blink himself out of his stupor to sit up, limbs loose and heavy. Wasn’t quite  _ sitting tight _ , but it was all he could muster.   


Eddie was almost surprised by his own nudity, as if he couldn't remember stripping and being stripped, especially since Richie was still going around with his (belt-less) trousers all buttoned up. Though if the linen bulge between his thighs was anything to go by, he would be bare in no time.

As thrilling as that thought was, Eddie couldn’t help but lament the eventual climax - literal and figurative, if you wanted to get technical. He just wanted this to last forever.

***

Earlier, Richie had dropped his bag on the dresser just outside the closet excuse for a bathroom, and ransacked it to get himself dressed as quickly as possible after his mid-afternoon check in. Luckily, the ransacking made it easier to retrieve his shopping bag full of toiletries. Plucking up a couple loose condoms and the bottle of lube (after mistaking his contact solution twice), Richie was halfway back to the bed before he realized his pants were still on.   
  
It took a practiced thumb and shimmy to get them on the floor, kicking them away toward the bathroom heedlessly. Richie didn’t think he’d be wearing linen trousers again anytime soon. With nothing but his socks between him and Eddie as he dropped down against the headboard, he was as good as ready, one hand gripping a narrow ankle to spin the shorter brunet around to face him.   
  
"Oh that was easier than I thought," Richie remarked - though with the texture of the top quilt, it wasn't really surprising. That wasn't what Richie wanted to focus on just then, though, especially with Eddie looking like a startled rabbit before him, flushed from cheeks to thighs, still hard.   
  
"Come'ere," Richie murmured, abandoning his acquisitions to the bedside table as he reached for Eddie's hands, drawing him up and forward until all that toasted marshmallow skin was straddled across his lap, small pink lips within reach of his own again.   


Eddie kissed him sweetly, a touch softer than the last two times, as his hands rose to curl over Richie’s shoulders. Eddie’s lips were as pillowy as ever, a chapstick deviant, and Richie sighed into the contact. His arms rose to circle a bare waist when he finally pulled the last of their clothes off bony elbows (kicking off his stupid socks) to toss them away, palms smoothing up and down the warm expanse of Eddie's back, over the bump of slender hips and the swell of his ass.  
  
Often as subtlety was mistaken for sneaking, Richie couldn't help feeling like he ought to keep his provisions out of sight and out of mind as much as possible. Not that he intended a spring attack but when it came to the asthmatic hypochondriac (was he even still either of those things?), he was fairly well rehearsed in avoiding preemptive freak-outs - if a little rusty, in this day and age. 

At least the squeeze bottle of lube he had brought was a snap cap that Richie could handle with one hand, slicking up the tips of three fingers before his hand returned to the warm crevice spread across his lap while his other hand flattened between knobby shoulder blades, pressing Eddie down against his chest while their heads tipped, teeth parting again.    
  
This time, as his finger slid over the twitching hole, Richie could feel the tension in the thighs against his, hear the hitch of Eddie's breath as their gasps echoed between them along with the wet smack of damp lips. Richie wanted to swallow every sound, keep it inside him forever, play them on repeat when his thoughts got too loud. But for now he just basked in each and every one, and bent his head to taste every inch of the squirming brunet that he could reach.    


"You done this before?" Eddie mumbled coyly, though even Richie couldn’t pretend the added desperation in his voice wasn’t imagined.

"More than you have," Richie answered with a laugh, listening to the shaken voice through the vibrations that hummed against his lips. The need in Eddie's tone was like gasoline on an already spiraling fire in his belly, and he struggled not to rock his hips up into the warm canopy of their tangled legs, seeking friction he knew wasn't within reach yet.    
  
Getting Eddie to relax and unwind was like politely telling a thunderstorm to take a left at the highway. Richie could admit to considering himself a lot of things but an actual god was not one of them, even if he tried damn hard. Which was all he could do now. 

Thoughts of scarves and cover up flashed across the back of his eyelids as Richie nipped and sucked at soft skin, tonguing over the bump of a quivering adam's apple while he traced his trail like a treasure map with dotted lines and landmarks. Between warm cheeks, his fingers slid easily back and forth, pressing down with each swipe of the middle pad to test the resistance at the center.    
  
Then, just as easily as he slipped past it, Richie slipped inside, pausing at the first knuckle and wriggling to swirl the almost forgiving joint against tense muscles before he retreated again, only to repeat the motion. Clutching Eddie against his chest didn't leave an arm open for other administrations, but a successful shift of his thighs drew narrow hips forward and their pelvises together. It was a miracle he avoided injury as their dicks knocked together, eliciting a hiss and groan - but fuck knew what from whom. 

Just like he remembered, or imagined, Eddie was responsive and audible on a level that left Richie's head spinning and his dick twitching where they had fallen into line together. He bit his own bottom lip so hard that it threatened to bleed, tasting a bit too metallic not to have at least tried, but even that wasn't enough to do anything to the heat flickering in his gut. It was a good thing his wrist rested against the dimples just above Eddie's ass, or they both would have been sent flailing by all the intoxicating friction.    
  
"Easy, Eds," Richie teased softly, his lips trailing up the column of his throat while ragged breaths billowed across his shoulders, nipping at the edge of a sharp jawline. 

“Shut up,” Eddie bit out, not nearly as menacing as he probably meant.

With all that success, Richie couldn’t resist dipping his finger inside again, pressing just enough to stretch around the second knuckle before toying with the sensitive muscles. His grip around Eddie's back was enough to hold him in place, even as Richie tilted his hips, rolling them forward to slide their dicks together deliciously. There was no resisting the grin that stretched his cheeks, face pressed into the curve of Eddie's jaw and shoulder, when the trembling turned a little violent just as Richie began to slide his finger in and out of the hot, shuddering hole with earnest.    


Eddie unlatched one arm from around Richie, his antsy hand wiggling between their bodies, while Richie focused on his administrations. The shorter brunet managed to wrap his fingers around both their taut dicks, shuddering out a breath into Richie's hair like he couldn’t stand it anymore. Hissing at the almost painful grip, it took a moment to register the length of Eddie's shaft still pressed against him, and Richie tried to swallow a grunt while his hands stilled - just to make sure he didn't cause unintended injury. 

A shuddering laugh fell out of him, lips stretched by his wincing grin while his tongue flicked against burgundy love bites, dark eyes cinching shut. Turning his head a bit, Richie nipped at the lobe of Eddie's ear, half-smearing his face against the soft hair that had begun to curl damply along the joint of his jaw.   
  
"You're not allowed to cum yet," he whispered, almost singing the reminder - and yet, breathless. As if to punctuate the notion, Richie slid his finger back inside again, twisting his hand and pulling ever so slightly, until the tight muscles just barely gapped enough to let cool air touch his knuckle - the best indication that he had room for another. Retreating, the second finger slid in on the way back, snug and slick, though he slowed at the first sign of resistance again - only to realize it was Eddie clenching more than anything. So testy.   
  
"Relax, Eds," Richie whispered, hand smoothing down the bumps of his spine, only to lift toward his hair and drift slowly down again. Like coaxing a starving animal to trust enough for a bite. "I got you."  
  
The slowing of Eddie's breath, intentional or otherwise, and the minute release of individual muscles all across his body, was enough to have Richie swelling with something between smug satisfaction and an aching tenderness that threatened to immobilize him. As if staring in unfettered awe was all he had been made for. Even as the shorter brunet sagged against him, lungs functioning despite their audible drag (thank fuck, Richie didn't know where the hell to get an inhaler at this hour and there sure as shit wasn't one in either of their pockets), the grip on their dicks remained fairly stubborn, and Richie had to resist the urge to buck up into it.   
  
"There he is," he murmured, a chuckle trickling out of him while his fingers sank in fully, withdrawing and twisting and dipping in again. There was no pretending that Trashmouth Tozier was patient, even after years of practice (at least as far as long drives and _get outta here kid_ ’s were concerned), but that wasn't going to keep him from drawing out every moment of this process as thoroughly as he could. Falling asleep tonight was out of the question too, if only because he hadn't believed in tomorrows for years.   
  
Fortunately - for both of them - it wasn't much longer before room for a third finger was made, and Richie stretched his first two apart with every slide, somewhat because it sent Eddie's thighs to the high vibrate setting, and partially because of the noises that began to tumble out of him, muffled by Richie's hair.   


The bump of a thumb against his chin drew Richie's attention up in a slow motion, only the swelling of his chest giving him the strength to straighten as Eddie's mouth tilted towards his. Focused as he was on the task at hand (literally), Richie let his eyes fall shut as they sighed into one another, his hips hitching ever so slightly.   
  
Despite some subconscious effort, Richie had no success trying to synchronize the slide of his fingers and the thrust of his tongue - or Eddie's. The all encompassing sensation of their entangled bodies couldn’t distract him enough that he failed to notice the forgiving squeeze of the muscles around his fingers, and it wasn't long before Richie was sliding his hand down and off of Eddie's back to reach for the foil-wrapped packets beside him.   
  
"Sit back," he murmured against slick lips, almost biting his own lip. Fingers sliding free, Richie lifted his own legs a little, his arms rising to press his forearm to Eddie's back - didn't want him falling over just yet, after all. Wiping his hand a bit absently on the blanket, once Eddie had caught his balance, Richie made an effort to get the package open with his teeth, only to give up when enough room stretched between them to use both hands.   


"Finally made it, huh," Eddie mentioned softly as they fumbled together, spreading out further still over Richie's lap, his hands balanced on either shoulder. "Just took us ten years to get here. You must think I'm the biggest tease of the decade."

A laugh escaped Richie as he glanced up, not quite able to close his teeth while he grinned, if only to keep his breathing a little quiet. Like he needed the quiet to focus or something.   
  
"Don't worry," he murmured in his best sultry tone. "I'll make it worth the wait." 

Fuck, but Eddie smiled, and Richie couldn’t remember a damn painful thing in his life.

Making quick work of the prophylactic, the tall brunet put his arm around Eddie's waist again, guiding him up and forward with the lift of his legs as he tipped them together. Thighs shifting, Richie tucked his dick down to make it underneath, drawing back to slide along the slick valley of Eddie's ass.   
  
"You ready, Eddie?" Richie whispered, smiling impishly while he reached for the bottle, twitching when the cool liquid hit his rubber wrapped head. Adequately lubed, he slipped into that tempting heat again.   


Suddenly Richie couldn’t believe - well, anything. That Eddie was here, that they were together, that nothing could hurt them and no one could find them. If he wasn’t so amazed and elated, he might have had it in him to feel guilty. Not this time, though. For fucking  _ once _ .

His hand shifted back until the swollen, aching head of his dick caught in the divot of a fluttering asshole, and Richie sucked in a breath like he was drowning. Arm tightening around Eddie's ribs, he straightened his own back in incremental adjustments as his hips tipped up, before he let the shorter brunet sink down.   
  
Eddie slipped over him like warm butter, but Richie wasn't about to jump this gun. His shoulders tightened, thrilled by even the minute pressure of curling fingers and the gusting ghost of an expelled breath over his forehead. Hips rocking, he worked himself in by inches, absorbing every moment with every sense he could process and focus on. A room vacant of sound was filled by the pulse in his ears and the echo of their open mouths into the dark gap between them. Tipping his chin up, Richie closed it, swallowing both their noises as Eddie's ass came flush against his thighs.   
  
Pausing a moment, his hips shifted down again. Much as Richie would have liked to bask in the tight, rippling heat encompassing him, movement was their best friend. Arms shaking, he shifted his footing, bracing his heels against the low friction bedding, and managed a slow rock, in and out of Eddie's trembling body.

The sounds falling out of Eddie's mouth shook Richie to his core, his cheeks twitching with smug smirks that never came to fruition. His shoulders relaxed incrementally, easing the weight of the body clenched in his arms, against his lap. Buried to the hilt, Richie arched his back away from the headboard, nipping at Eddie's lips. It was enough to slide himself out, probably no more than halfway, but that made it no less wonderful to rock back again, sinking inside with a more urgent shift of tangled limbs.   
  
If it weren't for the textured backrest digging into his skin, it would have been perfect, though Richie wondered if the distraction might help him last. Even the mildly inhibiting squeeze of the condom wasn't doing much to stave off the billowing heat that had flooded his rushing bloodstream. Hands shifted lower, arms unwinding while he followed the roll and curve of Eddie's back and hips, Richie spread his knees a little further. The sudden pressure had him biting back a gasp (unsuccessfully).   
  
"You got a tight ass, Eds," the trashmouth chirped fondly, licking between Eddie's parted teeth before he pressed their lips together.   


“Yeah?” Eddie murmured, voice low in his throat. Laving lazily into Richie's mouth, he interrupted the ebb and flow to drop down himself, moaning like he didn’t have a stubborn bone in his body. Richie choked on another gasp, his fingers curling as his grip tightened, his head shaken apart by the hum of Eddie's noise. His hips hitched and his balls jerked and it was a miracle his orgasm wasn't yanked out of him like a wiggly baby tooth at the wrong end of a knot.   
  
"Fuck," slipped out breathlessly, and Richie slid his arms around narrow ribs again, almost overlapping his elbows as he squeezed. "Issat how it is?" He was practically giggling as he nipped at damp lips, Eddie's eyes looming in his sight through the blurred frame of dark lashes, echoing his laughter. Richie wasn't going to make it if that happened again.   
  
An executive decision had his limbs moving before he could concentrate enough to oversee much of anything. Richie’s heels slid up and then back just as his shoulders bowed forward, and it was by the mercy of gravity that he managed to push them backwards, his grip on Eddie limiting the impact against the mattress to a soft bounce - which still ripped a groan from his throat as the constricting heat of Eddie’s ass clenched around his dick.   


"Can't sit still?" Eddie teased, a complete tonal contrast to the tangle of legs and genitals just south of his lidded eyes and wry lips.   


"Just here to impress," Richie retorted primly, working to get his knees under him before the look on the squirming little bastard's face sent him over the edge. Nearly slipping out certainly helped put a cap on the volcano threatening to erupt in his lower belly, but it only took his first experimental rock forward for that failsafe to - well, fail.   
  
Efforts to get his arms free from beneath their combined weight only managed to jostle the two of them, and Richie found himself fighting chuckles as his lips found Eddie's again. He rolled back to snap his hips forward, just barely sliding his hands up over sharp shoulders - a grip that gave him a little more leverage.   
  
Finally, pressing up with one elbow, Richie yanked one arm free, and set his fist into the mattress beside Eddie's head to hold himself steady. Mouth dipping to taste the sounds through the twitch of that glistening throat, Richie tensed his thighs and fell into a quick, easy rhythm. His hips didn't quite meet Eddie's ass as he thrust forward, delving shallowly only to nearly unseat himself on every retreat.   
  
"Richie!" Eddie huffed, one arm crooked around Richie’s neck, and the other curled around the wrist of his stabilizing hand. He fought not to stumble when the desperation in Eddie's tone, teeth clacking around his name, drove a spike of desire right through his core. As if the vice grip around his dick wasn't doing enough with every barely controlled slide. The cheap bed creaked beneath them and Richie relished the sound as much as Eddie’s breath, like if he squeezed his eyes hard enough he'd get transported back to any number of the nights they spent together.   
  
The arm around his neck prevented any rise or retreat, but it gave Richie enough room to shift lower, spine bowed as his teeth slide along the line of a heaving collarbone. Even in the low yellow light, Richie could see the mottled trail of marks he had already made - stretching from the curve of Eddie's jaw to the flare of his shoulders. All his, all where they could be seen. Burying a groan against soft skin, Richie's teeth closed rather suddenly, sinking less than gently into whatever he could get around.   
  
His knees nudged forward, reclaiming balance and all but shoving Eddie's legs higher - until his heels knocked against his ass and clenched around him. There was no resisting then. Richie sank forward, not quite sliding with the force of his thrust that bumped his pelvis against Eddie's plump ass. Fully engulfed in all that tight, slick heat, his only option was the almost-sobering measure of deep, full thrusts. Still trapped between them, Eddie's dick dribbled, smearing against his belly with every shove forward.   
  
"You can cum now, Eds," Richie murmured, too sincere when the breath was being stolen from him with every clench and shudder.   
  
"Fuck you," Eddie choked out, for the another time that night. A huffed laugh drowned in the din, and Richie tucked his face into the crook of Eddie's shoulder like he needed protection from the cool air, while every thrust tried to rip out his core. 

With Eddie writhing against him and tensing without rhythm and clinging to sweat slick skin, there was no real competition. Richie's orgasm jerked out of him like a fish on the line. Only the molars clamped into both his cheeks kept him from releasing a sound, breath held while his face turned red, head filled with air.   
  
But Richie was not about to stop. Not until Eddie came apart with him. Hypersensitive and crumbling (and knowing full well that time was against him now), the tall brunet tensed his legs a little tighter, hauled himself up onto both fists, and drove forward again and again and again.   
  
On a cry muffled by the clench of his teeth around his bottom lip, Eddie shattered, and it was the most beautiful thing Richie had ever seen. Head tipped back, eyes rolling, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Being flayed open had never been so thrilling before. That tight heat clamped down and rippled around Richie, drawing every last ounce he had.   
  
Shifting back, Richie freed himself before Eddie's body could decide to trap them. Rather than drop to the side, though, he shot to his feet, legs jellied but just barely under his control as he stumbled across the small room toward the table, fumbling to find his cellphone. Fuck if he was going to miss this moment.   
  
"Look at me, Eds," Richie gasped, still breathless and heaving as he hovered over the prone and shaking form, squaring up the tiny screen before his thumb pressed down - little more than the rubber thump capturing the moment permanently. 

Eddie groaned and threw his quivering arms over his face, not before the 8-bit camera shutter announced his digital immortalization. “You fucking voyeur.”

"Now, you'll be twenty-eight and freshly deflowered forever," Richie said smugly, unable to fashion a retort to the actual accusation. Satisfied, Richie dropped back down onto the bed, bouncing them both as he clicked the button to view his masterpiece, before folding the thing closed and tossing it beside him. 

The condom slipped off him with every shift and twist, threatening a worse mess with every passing second he sat their doing nothing. His breath hissed through his teeth as he pulled the thing off, pinching his own hair and smearing his hands and thigh with God knows what combination of fluids. Tossing the ruined rubber toward the little trash bin by the mirror, Richie wasted no time getting his arms around Eddie again, cinching them from chest to thighs. It crossed his mind that the pillows were at their feet, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.   
  
"Worth the wait?" he asked, tone teasing even as he found himself wanting the answer. "If not, we can go again. I just need like, ten minutes and your mouth."   


"I think I'm satisfied," Eddie answered, smile tired, and wider than Richie had seen all night. Perfect evidence that this had been a success. As much as it could be while they were unable to stop time, anyway.

***

As exhausted as he had been, with the not-quite restful aftermath of the destruction of his virginity, and best orgasm of his life, Eddie couldn’t sleep. With the combined stimulus of a lumpy, hard bed and all the thoughts running circles around his brain, it was just about hopeless. 

At least that made it much less difficult (though not easy by any means) to dress in his rumpled, forgotten suit, blazer over his forearm, when the sky was just fading to light blue. He couldn’t decide if leaving was a little vindictive, or justified entirely. The simple fact of the matter was that the fantasy wasn’t quite real enough to keep him from his eleven AM train back to New York.   
  
He could at least, offer a little better in the way of parting gifts than Richie had ten years ago. Scrawling his cell and home phone numbers on the flimsy pad of paper provided by the motel, he left it on the bedside table, before letting himself out. Tempting as it was to leave a snoozing Richie with a kiss on the cheek, Eddie just couldn’t risk it. All he left was a note, and some numbers.

By the time Eddie was on the train, he had showered, and dressed in clean clothes for a day of travel. Nothing, though, could hide the bruises across his throat and chin, like mutated chicken pox (though he knew better). For the first time, he didn’t want to. Whether that sentiment would remain by the time he reached home and his mother, there was no telling.

_ Call me when you get the chance. Postcards are so last decade. E _


End file.
